


Give It A Chance, You Might Learn A New Trick

by Bennyhatter



Series: Shifter 'Verse [1]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Danny Williams is a Shifter, Human/Shifter Racism, Kono is also a Shifter, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Racism, Shifters, Slow Burn, Steve Has Issues, Steve McGarrett Needs a Hug, Violence, did I mention that Steve has issues, emotionally troubled character, like several parts from now slow, military stuff, scarred character, so slow, tattooed character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 09:21:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12339882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/pseuds/Bennyhatter
Summary: Steve McGarrett has issues with Shifters, for a good reason. Too bad his new partner is one.





	Give It A Chance, You Might Learn A New Trick

**Author's Note:**

> I am new to this fandom. I shall now burn, because McDanno is life.
> 
> There will be more parts, and there will be fun times eventually. For now... Someone please hug Steve McGarrett.

The man standing across from Steve is a Shifter. There’s nothing obvious that gives it away, there never is with Shifters, but he can feel it. The crackle of danger in the air that tastes like ozone on the back of his tongue. The subtle, almost unnoticeable presence of _other_ that fills the room and adds to the testosterone flowing between them as they raise their guns in unison. Steve didn’t even hear him come in, he was too focused on the toolbox his father had pointed him toward, cryptic words and apologies flowing together in his head in a tumble of pain and fury and _boom_.

“Show me your ID,” the man snaps. He’d called himself Detective Danny Williams, part of the HPD; Steve almost wants to scoff at him. He’s a mainlander, not yet tan enough to pretend otherwise and wearing a _tie_ , of all things. That the HPD would put a _haole_ on his father’s case, one who doesn’t know his way around and doesn’t know who to talk to, is almost an insult. John McGarrett was a well-known, well-liked man. If this is the best his _comrades_ can give him, Steve really is better off doing this on his own.

“You show me yours,” he bites back, a thread of disdain winding through his words and making them sharper. The taste of ozone increases as dark blonde brows furrow over bright blue eyes. The _haole_ shifts into a better position, his feet braced and his shoulders back. Rather than lifting his head in challenge, he keeps himself in a neutral position, his head dipped and his throat hidden even as his lips curl just a bit. Steve barely refrains from baring his own in challenge, human or not. He doesn’t like Shifters – maybe once upon a time, but almost two decades in the Navy and countless missions with the SEALs has effectively wiped away any and all comfort he may have once felt around them. His scars itch, bleeding irritation sluggishly down his spine and across his side, the longer he stares at the Shifter.

“Same time?” he finally suggests, grinding the words past clenched teeth.

The Shifter detective sneers. “What, like 1, 2, 3?”

“Sure, count of three,” Steve grunts with a nod, and they both reach for their pockets at the same time. It’s a tense few seconds while he counts down slowly, neither of them looking away or lowering their guns – not that a predatory Shifter would ever need one. This guy must be impressive to be hired on by HPD, _haole_ Shifter and all. He doesn’t look like much to Steve; he’s almost laughably short and stocky, with broad shoulders and arms that are thick with muscle and hair. His blonde hair is slicked back like it will do anything to keep him cool, his shirt buttoned and that _tie_ , Jesus, how is he expecting to fit in at all when he’s broadcasting so loudly that he does _not belong_.

They pull out their IDs and Steve sees the Detective insignia branded next to the man’s smiling picture. Below it, he sees the brand that marks the man as a Shifter – an elegant silver _S_ with Hawaii’s chosen insignia of a tribal sun setting.

“This is my father’s house,” Steve rumbles once they’ve both dropped their guns and the Shifter has relaxed enough to make him wary instead of murderous. He’s got to give the guy credit, he does look genuinely sympathetic when he gestures at the garage around them.

“I am very sorry for your loss,” he says, “but this is an active crime scene. You cannot be here.”

“Fine.” Steve grabs his father’s toolbox and goes to leave, only to grit his teeth again at the aggravated sigh he hears just behind him once he’s shouldered his way past the Shifter.

“You can leave the toolbox; that is evidence, you _know_ that.”

“I brought it with me,” he insists, turning just enough to keep the man in his line of sight. Every instinct in him screams not to turn his back to the creature watching him with unreadable blue eyes, his arms crossed over his chest. He looks tired and frustrated but Steve can’t find it in himself to care.

“Sure you did,” the man agrees with false cheer, sarcasm thick in his tone when he spins and stalks back to the workbench. He gestures at it, an angry slash of his hand, and Steve feels his hackles raise. “That’s why there is a clear dust mark where it was. You didn’t bring it, it is evidence; _leave it here_.”

They could go around in circles all day – were the man in front of him human, Steve would delight in winding him up and vanishing. But he’s tired, the ache in his chest from his father’s death the only thing keeping him going right now. He sets the toolbox carefully on top of his father’s Marquis, pulls out his phone, and calls the Governor while the Shifter watches with thinly-veiled suspicion.

“I’ll head your task force,” Steve all but barks through the phone. The Governor is clearly pleased, thanking him profusely and saying something else, but Steve is glaring holes into the Detective glaring right back at him and he doesn’t hear much of it. “Thank you,” he says with forced politeness before he hangs up. Grabbing his toolbox again, he can’t help but grin at the short Shifter, who looks like he’s torn between shouting and lunging. Steve’s grin is all teeth, lips pulled back to bare them in a clear challenge that is answered with a low warning rumble.

“This is my case now,” he says with finality. “That makes this _my_ crime scene. And this?” He lifts the toolbox and points at it like the _haole_ doesn’t know exactly what he’s talking about, “This is mine.”

He walks away purposefully, leaving his father’s house and bitter, broken memories as he escapes out into the Hawaiian sunlight and fresh, untainted air.

 _Fuckin’_ _Shifters_ , he thinks to himself, almost growling as he yanks his door open and drops into his seat. He peels out of the driveway, tires squealing like they’re responding to his rage, and he sees a flash of blonde hair and a dark tie in his rearview mirror before he’s driving away with his father’s toolbox safely in the passenger’s seat behind him.

Steve points the nose of his truck toward HPD headquarters and drives, drumming his fingers restlessly against the steering wheel as his anger fades slowly. The McGarrett men have never been big on emotions that weren’t anger, something they clung to that drove them and helped accomplish whatever they’d set out to do. It’s that drive, carefully controlled, that made Steve such a good SEAL. He could compartmentalize better than anyone his commanding officer had ever seen in the Navy; he was ruthless and efficient on missions, leading his men with confidence and wracking up more successful missions than most other men his age.

And yet.

Steve’s father did not raise them to discriminate. He’d never had an issue with Shifters when he was younger and Hawaii was his home; back before his mother died and his father sent them away when his own rage and drive consumed him. Mary went off and lived her life however she decided, and Steve joined the Navy because if he couldn’t have Hawaii, then he didn’t want a home. He was content to be wherever they sent him, miles from his island and drowning in blood and resolve until one phone call, one gunshot, shattered it all and he limped home.

He’s tired. He’s so fucking tired. He hasn’t let himself rest, not in years, and now that he’s home and there’s no mission other than _find Victor Hesse_ , Steve doesn’t know what he’s going to do. He’s transferred into the Reserves, his time as an active SEAL is over. He accepted the Governor’s request to run her task force and keep Hawaii safe, but he’s not sure how long that will keep him going. Once he’s found Hesse and killed him, Steve isn’t even sure what he _wants_ to do.

There’s always time to decide later. For now, he has this mission; one last mission, one last surge of rage to keep him calm and his keep mind clear, and Steve lets himself drown in the faded scent of his father’s blood, the memory of _boom_ as Hesse pulled the trigger, and he snarls like the Shifters he so dislikes as he presses down on the accelerator and speeds toward the police department.

His father did not raise them to discriminate against Shifters, but it’s kept Steve alive for this long, and so far, he hasn’t met a Shifter capable of changing that. Not that many have tried.

 

\--

 

Once, in the jungles of South America, Steve almost lost his life to a jaguar Shifter. He and his men had been tracking the smuggler and his group, and no one, absolutely _no one_ , had reported anything about any of the men being Shifters. Either their source honestly hadn’t known, or someone had paid a large amount to keep that information secret. No one had died during the mission, but Steve had come damn close. The jaguar had ambushed them, roaring and nearly blowing out Steve’s eardrums from proximity before the beast had tackled him and they’d gone tumbling. Steve had shouted, his men were shouting, and then he could hear rapid gunfire. He was too busy struggling against the jaguar, trying to throw the Shifter to the side so he could get to his knives, and he could see the intelligence in the big cat’s golden eyes as it snarled and swiped. Tendrils of fire had torn across his side, peeling skin and muscle open like butter, and Steve had bellowed in a mixture of pain and rage as he’d finally wrestled the Shifter over.

Hands wet with blood and sweat, he’d reached for his knives and almost lost his arm when thick, deadly teeth had sunk into his bicep and tore into him. Claws gouged across his spine, slipping as the monster tried to hold him in place, and Steve’s still not entirely sure how he’d managed to drive one of his blades up through the beast’s jaw and into his brain, but he had. He’d shoved, screamed too loud in the sudden silence, and the last thing he remembered was the look of horror on his team’s faces before he’d fallen into black nothingness.

Later on, the doctors had told him it was a miracle he’d survived at all. The scars from that attack are far from new, but they still ache every now and then; reminding him that he can never let his guard down, no matter how certain he is of safety.

 

\--

 

Detective Daniel Williams looks dumbfounded when his door swings open and he sees Steve. The Shifter recovers swiftly, the barest tensing of his shoulders letting Steve know that the man is just as wary of him, and a vicious thrill of pride makes him tilt his head and square his shoulders. He pulls himself to his fullest height, crossing his arms over his chest, and settles in for a battle of wills.

“Who is Fred Doran?” he asks. Williams barely keeps his teeth covered, rage flashing across his face at the challenge and dominance Steve is exuding like it’s his natural-born right. In a way, it is. He’s not a Shifter, but Steve has walked through blood and battle and hellfire, and it’s made him who he is today. He’s a leader, an Alpha in every way that matters, and no _haole_ Shifter is going to change that.

“What, you couldn’t read it for yourself?” Williams snarks. The growl is barely detectable, but there’s enough of it for Steve to smirk at how easily he can get beneath this Shifter’s skin.

“You asked for a warrant on Fred Doran. Who is he?” Steve repeats himself one more time. If they’re going to play this game again, he’s going to punch the Shifter and hogtie him and throw him in the back seat of his truck, because he does not have time for this shit. Hesse gets further away every hour, hiding until it’s safe for him to flee, and Steve will not let that happen. Hesse is _his_ , and he will gut that fucking animal like the pig he is for what he’s done.

Something changes, though he’s not sure what it is, because the hard line of Williams’ shoulders eases and he steps back with an annoyed huff. “Arms dealer,” he bites out. He’s frustrated, that much is clear, but he’s also turning his back on Steve like he has nothing to be afraid of as he walks back into the tiny, cramped room he calls his apartment. Steve follows because he’s an asshole and he’s almost itching for a fight now; looking around, he grimaces when he spots a picture of Williams’ daughter. He’s done his homework, digging up everything he can about the Shifter Detective, and he can’t help but be grudgingly impressed by how well the _haole_ has done since he followed his ex-wife and their young daughter from the mainland just so he could be close to the girl.

“You let her sleep here with you?” he scoffs, and Williams moves before even Steve’s heightened reaction times can catch him.

His back hits the wall hard enough that he hears the plaster crack under the force. He’s face-to-face with an enraged Shifter who doesn’t give a fuck that he’s almost a foot shorter than Steve. He’s snarling, his blunt human teeth looking a little sharper when he bares them in challenge. Steve tries to retaliate, tries to buck the man’s weight off, but Williams has him by the wrists and he slams them back against the wall. Steve doesn’t wince, but he knows there will be bruises in the shape of fingers splayed across his skin later. It makes his blood sing, makes him growl eagerly at the thought of the fight, but Williams snarls again and snaps his teeth at the empty air just in front of Steve’s nose. It doesn’t matter that he’s shorter; he leans in until he’s got Steve’s eyes fixated on his face, unblinking as his eyes flicker between bright blue and dark gold.

“Don’t,” Williams says, that single word reverberating with so much danger that Steve goes still, “talk about my daughter. Do not talk about shit you don’t have the first _clue_ about.” He lets go and steps back, turning away from Steve and running a frustrated hand through his hair before he takes a deep, calming breath. When he speaks again, he sounds infuriatingly in control of his emotions. “Get out.”

Steve might not like Shifters, but he knows he needs help. Williams is touchy about his child, a fact he’ll have to remember from now on. Rubbing his wrists, he sighs and rebuilds his own walls, bringing himself under control again. This isn’t about his personal vendettas against a species. This is about finding his father’s murderer, no matter what. He takes another deep breath, lets it out slowly, and apologizes.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. Williams’ shoulders stiffen from shock before relaxing, and the Shifter turns to glare at him with one glittering blue eye. “I was out of line,” Steve goes on, gesturing at nothing in particular before dragging a hand down his face. His stubble scrapes against his rough palms, a reminder that he hasn’t made any real attempt to rest yet, and he shakes his head. “Look, I need help.” Sometimes the truth is the best route, even if it makes Steve want to grind his teeth at admitting that he’s not qualified to do something on his _own_. He was a SEAL; he knows how to play with others, even if he doesn’t always do it well. “I need a _partner_ ,” he stresses, “and you’ve got some free time now, anyway.”

“Because you _took my case_ , you Neanderthal of a man,” Williams snaps, but there’s not nearly the same kind of heat in his tone that was there before. It almost looks like he’s trying not to smirk, and Steve can’t help but grin and shrug.

“Tomato, potato,” he says cheerfully. “Either way, I need a partner, you need something to do; this should work out pretty well.” Williams is looking at him like he’s lost his mind, which makes Steve grin wider. His huff of laughter is genuine, something he tries not to think about too hard when he turns away. “It’ll be fun,” he promises, though he has no way to guarantee that and Williams knows it, especially not with how things have already played out between them so far.

The Shifter doesn’t follow right away, so Steve leans back and looks into the pitiful excuse of an apartment, arching his eyebrows at the man staring at him like he’s an unstable patient who has somehow managed to escape from his handlers.

“Are you coming?”

“You need help,” Williams decides, but he’s already following Steve, shutting and locking the door behind them. He makes a disgruntled face at the Hawaii heat that wraps around them as soon as they’re outside, but Steve feels no sympathy for him. He’s the one who insists on dressing like he’s going to church. “You need so much psychiatric help I don’t even know who to call first. Are you skipping doses? Do your handlers know that you’ve been loosed on the public? Should I call the shelter?”

“Do you always talk this much, Williams?” Steve asks conversationally, but he’s grinning and it surprises him. He should be throwing fists, he shouldn’t _be here_ , and yet Williams is sliding behind the wheel of a beautiful little silver Camaro and Steve is swinging into the passenger’s seat like he’s been doing it for years.

“It’s Danny, and yes. It’s a Williams family trait, straight from the beautiful soils of New Jersey where people are _sane_.” Williams – _Danny_ – starts the car, and their conversation isn’t entirely pleasant, some of their barbs thrown with the intention of leaving a mark, but Steve hasn’t been this relaxed around a Shifter in years. He hasn’t dropped his guard by any means, but Danny manages to make him chuckle a few times, and the satisfaction on the other man’s face is as puzzling as it is unexpected every time he makes Steve snort or huff out a laugh; like he’s winning somehow, getting the upper hand, even though Steve will never let that happen.

Danny is a Shifter. No matter what, he cannot be trusted.

 

\--

 

Doran shoots Danny. Steve isn’t worried – _shouldn’t_ be, Shifters are made of tougher stuff than humans even if they can die in most of the same ways – but the rage roars to life behind his eyes like a bloodthirsty hound straight from the depths of hell. When he hears the Shifter shout at him to go after his panicked, “ _Danny!_ ” Steve doesn’t hesitate. He chases the man down through the streets, hurdling over every obstacle thrown in his way with a determination that gusts past his gritted teeth like a continuous growl. He closes in quickly and Doran, sensing his blood is about to be spilled, grabs a hostage. Steve almost can’t see her through the red crawling across his vision, tunneling all of his senses down until Doran is all he sees, sneering and barking like a tough dog even though Steve can almost _smell_ his terror.

When the man goes down, Steve is almost positive he pulled the trigger without realizing it, until he sees Danny standing several yards back, partially hidden by the overgrown vegetation between buildings. The Shifter’s teeth are bared, his blue eyes clear and furious, and when he looks at Steve it doesn’t go away. He’s _furious_ but Steve can’t bring himself to care because Danny just killed the only lead he had to finding Hesse.

He searches the house rather than facing the Shifter, a move he knows will definitely end in bloodshed. There has to be _something_ here amongst all of the filth and the cache of weapons. He’s so focused, exhaustion prickling across his eyes until they sting that he refuses to acknowledge, that he almost doesn’t hear the thumping. He can hear Danny outside, a louder voice than the rest that he refuses to tune in to, but there’s a lull in conversation and he realizes that the thumping isn’t his heart pounding after all.

The girl is young and terrified, covered in dirt and dressed in clothes that do nothing to hide the darker smudges across her shoulders. Steve wants to howl his outrage, he wants to tear Doran apart even though he’s already dead, but instead he quickly crouches down and promises her that she’s safe, her native tongue slipping past his lips before he’s thought about it. She tumbles into his arms with a quiet cry, too-thin arms wrapping around his neck, and he’s hugging her tightly to himself as he stands. It’s when he’s turning to take her outside, away from her dark prison and into the warm Hawaii light, that she Shifts. He’s not expecting it; one second he’s got his arms full of a young girl, and then he’s holding a bat that’s squeaking and chittering in distress. He almost crushes the Shifter he’s so startled, but his instinct kicks in and he gentles his hold. She’s too terrified to hold onto her human form, reverting to what’s most comfortable and tucking her cool muzzle under his jaw. She’s still squeaking, her little claws hooked into his shirt; he can feel her tiny body trembling and the pity almost overwhelms him.

Danny is waiting outside, his jaw clenched, but when he sees Steve cradling the bat against his chest something flickers across his face. It’s there and gone again before Steve can figure out what it was, what it meant, and then an HPD officer is there waiting with a towel.

“I’ll take her, sir,” the man says gently. Steve looks at him and wants to bare his teeth, human genetics be damned, but he pauses when he feels the familiar crackle that signifies a Shifter. He tastes ozone and narrows his eyes at the man before nodding once, stiffly, and carefully disentangling the young Shifter’s claws from his shirt. He soothes her in her native language, promising again that no harm will come to her, and the Shifter officer wraps her carefully in the towel before nodding at Steve and hurrying away. He watches the man go, breathing hard, and then Danny is in his space and he knows that it’s not going to go well.

“What the hell is the _matter_ with you?” the Shifter explodes, and he’s off on a rant before Steve can try to get a word in edgewise. It doesn’t stop him, their raised voices attracting plenty of attention, but Steve isn’t capable of caring what they think right now. Not with Danny in his face, his blue eyes blazing and his teeth flashing every time he pulls his lips back.

“You got me _shot_!” Danny shouts at him.

“You shot my only lead!” Steve shouts back, gesturing furiously toward the coroner’s van that is leaving with Doran’s body. Danny slams a finger against his chest and Steve sees red again.

“Get your finger out of my face.”

“I will _not_ ,” Danny spits, shoving his finger directly in Steve’s face this time. “I said wait for back up, but no!”

“Get it out of my face, Danny.”

“ _No_ , you had to be _macho man_ and go storming in like this is the goddamn jungle, you maniac!”

“One last warning, Danny. _Get your finger out of my face._ ”

Danny shoves closer instead, his teeth too sharp to be anything but a threat. Steve can’t see any fur rippling across his face or his throat, or his arms, but the finger in his face pops a claw instead of a nail as the man keeps ranting at him, and Steve is done. He grabs Danny’s wrist and twists sharply, shoving him down and subduing the furious Shifter by twisting his arm up behind his back and locking him in place. Danny yelps in pain and struggles, but he’s not going anywhere.

“You see what you did?” Steve demands, more exasperated than angry now that Danny is still and grumbling at the ground. “I told you to stop,” he reminds the Shifter, shaking his head and waving off the officers coming closer. “In front of all these nice people,” he adds, leaning in a little closer to hiss the next words close to Danny’s ear. “You don’t have to like me, but the only way we’re going to do this is if we _work together_. Hesse is still out there, Danny.” His voice drops and he can hear how frantic he sounds, how much this mission is driving everything he does. Danny goes carefully still and turns to look at him, his eyes narrowed. “I have to find him.”

“Let me up,” Danny grunts after a moment, so Steve does. He steps back, trying to show he’s willing to be civil, and opens his mouth to apologize.

Danny punches him across the face, his strength carefully tempered so that Steve only stumbles a step or two, his head snapped to the side. If he hadn’t restrained himself, Steve knows from experience that he would have gone through the closest wall. He turns to look at Danny, his eyes wide and shocked, but the Detective has already turned and started walking away.

“You’re right,” he throws over his shoulder roughly as he stalks back toward the car. “I don’t like you.”

Steve touches his jaw and licks the blood from his lips, his brow furrowed as he glares after the Shifter. “Son of a _bitch_ ,” he hisses, but he knows it could have been worse. Danny could have killed him, he could have tried to tear his throat or punch him in the ribs hard enough to shatter them. All he did was punch Steve – lightly for a creature like him – and left to go and breathe. The officers are staring at Steve now, a mixture of surprise and disappointment ranging across their faces. Ducking his head, he nods at them and follows after Danny, who is already behind the wheel and gripping it tightly enough that his knuckles are white while he breathes. Steve climbs in quietly and waits for the Camaro to roar to life and peel away, leaving the scene behind them. He doesn’t know where they’re going right now, but the tension in the car is so thick that he rolls his window down just for some air that isn’t being blasted from the air conditioner.

After ten solid minutes of silence, Steve lets out a loud breath and thunks his head back against his seat. “Danny, I-”

“Shut up,” the Shifter snaps.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says anyway, closing his eyes and listening to the sound of the man shifting angrily beside him. “I was out of line.”

“You’re damn right you were out of line.” Danny takes a loud breath and snorts it back out like he’s been punched in the solar plexus. Steve can hear the creak of the steering wheel as he adjusts his grip. “I don’t know what they hell you did in the SEALs, and I don’t really give a shit. You hate Shifters, I get it. Whatever happened to you must have been awful. Or maybe it’s just good-old family racism, passed down through the ages. Whatever it is, Steven, I don’t care. Hear me? I. Don’t. Care. You said it yourself; you don’t have to like me. I sure as hell don’t like you. But you dragged me away from my people, you told me I’m your partner now for whatever suicidal crusade you’re dragging us on, and here we are. And you know what? Fine. It’s fine. But don’t you dare treat me like I’m the enemy here. I want the same thing you want, even if it’s for different reasons. So help me god, Steven, if I have to punch you again for being an ass, I’m just going to shoot you instead. It will make everything so much easier, even if the paperwork will be a bitch.”

Steve cracks an eye open and looks over at Danny, who is glaring out the front windshield like the road has personally offended him. Curiosity licks at his chest, curling around his lungs and creeping up his vocal chords; his father did always used to say he was too curious for his own good.

“Why’d you come to Hawaii if you hate it so much?”

Danny relaxes like this is familiar territory, even if his knuckles are still pale around the steering wheel. “Because my ex-wife’s new husband decided to move to Hawaii for business. I followed them to this pineapple-infested _hell hole_ because my daughter is the only good thing I have in my life, and like hell I’m staying behind for Step-Stan to turn her into a miniature copy of himself.”

“Is she a Shifter?” Steve asks. He can’t help but think of the girl he pulled from the dark room in Doran’s bungalow; small, beaten, and so terrified she’d rather be anything but human at that moment. He remembers how she felt in his arms, so small and fragile, and how it had been instinct to protect her rather than crush her.

“She is,” Danny says quietly, and the pride in his voice is unmistakable. “She’s a mini-me, no matter what Stan might wish. Well, breed-wise. Her coloring is different, but she’s my monkey. She’s all I have; the only thing worth living for.”

“What breed are you?” His file in HPD hadn’t said anything about his breed; Detective Daniel Williams is marked down as a Canine Shifter, but his breed is unknown. That means he’d either never Shifted while he was on the force, or he refused to let them mark it down.

“That is none of your business,” Danny snaps, a hint of familiar anger creeping back into his voice, but it doesn’t last long before he’s gesturing at Steve and glaring as best he can without looking away from the road for too long. “By the way, this is the part where you say sorry.”

“Sorry?” Steve knows he needs to apologize, but it’s so much fun to wind Danny up that he can’t help playing dumb; he also can’t hide his grin when Danny huffs and gestures at him with more force.

“Yes, _sorry_. I don’t know how you and your guys did it in the SEALs or whatever, but here in civilized society, where we cannot solve issues with our fists like _heathens_ -”

“I will point out that you punched me-”

“Not the point, Steven! The _point_ is, that when you get somebody shot, you _apologize_! It’s not that hard! Jesus, were you raised in a _cave_ , what is wrong with you?”

He can’t help but stare at Danny, his eyebrows raised, until the Shifter clicks his jaw shut and glares at him without any regard for the road. “May I speak?” he asks mildly, and Danny growls at him without baring his teeth.

“Yes!”

“Okay then.” Nodding, Steve looks out the front window and rests his elbow on the open window, rubbing dirty fingers across his lips and feeling tiredness trying to creep in again. He forces it down with ease, used to ignoring his body’s needs for ops, and lets out a slow breath. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly before Danny can open his mouth to yell again. “I didn’t mean to get you shot. I really am sorry.” The crazy thing about it is that he really does feel remorse, which is not something he’s accustomed to when a Shifter is involved. “Is your arm okay?”

“Thank you.” Looking at the road again, Danny finally relaxes his grip on the steering wheel before he breaks it off and gives a quick nod. “I’m fine, yes. It was a graze; not too deep, but painful as hell. It’s healed, though.”

That’s one thing about Shifters that Steve isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to. They can lose a limb the same as any human, but they can heal from almost anything in hardly any time at all. Danny got shot, but it really was just a graze; Doran had been too panicked to aim well, which is probably why Danny got off so lightly. Had he been calmer, Doran might have shot him in the chest. If it had missed his heart, he would have survived, but it would have taken longer to heal than the graze; maybe twenty minutes as opposed to three.

“Good.” Nodding, Steve looks out the window again and watches the countryside roll by. Hawaii is a beautiful state, one of the most beautiful places Steve has ever been; although maybe that’s just because O’ahu had been his home for so long before his father sent him away. It still feels like home, even after all these years; lush and green like its own kind of paradise; everything carries the scent of the sea, and he breathes it in as he watches sunlight reflect off the rippling water of the ocean.

“I might know someone who can help us,” he says once the last of the tension has dissipated. He doesn’t look at Danny, but he hears the Shifter’s quiet, curious noise. “An old friend,” he clarifies, looking away from the ocean as memories trickle back in like an undammed stream. “He used to work on the force with my father.”

“Does this old friend have a name?” Danny presses, glancing at him with that same unreadable flicker in his eyes. His face is a mask of curiosity, but his eyes are a different story. Steve doesn’t feel like there’s a deeper threat hidden in the Shifter’s blue gaze, so he nods and licks his lips; he tastes the lingering blood from when Danny’s punch cut his lip and licks at the wound. Danny watches him do it for a moment before jerking his eyes away again.

“Name?” he prompts, his voice a little deeper, and Steve can’t tell if it’s annoyance or curiosity anymore; or something else. He doubts that very much, flicking the thought from his mind like a pesky insect before he nods again.

“Chin Ho Kelly.” His father’s old partner. A once-good cop who is now a rubber gun in a blue polo with sad, resigned eyes and a tired face. “If anyone knows who to talk to, it’s Chin.”

“Chin it is,” Danny mutters, and when his foot presses down on the accelerator the Camaro roars eagerly in response and Steve can’t help but grin.

 

\--

 

There was an assassin in Afghanistan who wiped out almost the entirety of SEAL Team 2 before Steve and his men got there. She pretended to be a villager, and she must have been taken from a nearby town and trained, because she blended in with them perfectly. She was a jackal Shifter, something they knew beforehand, but no one had ever seen her as a human and that made it harder. Steve and his men stayed up for almost three days laying out an ambush. The Commander of SEAL Team 2 was wounded and tired, nearly delirious from fear and fever, but he helped them every second he could until they lured her in.

It was a bloody battle. Grotto lost his arm and Ranger nearly lost his life; Steve has a jagged cluster of scars on his left thigh, close to his femoral, from when she appeared out of the darkness and sank her teeth in before he realized she was there. Commander Zeen was the one to put her down, a bullet through the side of her head making her drop like a stone and tearing her teeth from Steve’s flesh as the weight of her fell. It had hurt but he had endured, putting another round in her skull just in case before he and his men, and what remained of SEAL Team 2, had radioed in for medevac and gotten themselves some well-deserved rest.

She was the seventh Shifter Steve had a hand in killing; he’d lost count by then of how many had come after him and his men, but his hatred was already a warm thing in his chest by then. In a way, he hated them more than the men and women who came after his team on nearly every op; the ones they were sent in to extract or take out – whatever orders deemed necessary. Shifters, though, were a whole different world. Alien and vicious, they shifted form at will and were far more cunning than the average man. Most Shifters were species native to their homelands, which made them harder to spot and damn near impossible to track if their family-species were natural pack animals.

Men and women could be gunned down. Shifters were more difficult. They were more advanced in nearly every way. They were a _threat_ , and Steve didn’t tolerate threats. Not to his country, or to himself, or to his island. So he killed them when they turned up. He bled doing so, he almost _died_ doing so, multiple times, but at the end of the day he _won_ , and he’ll keep those victories as proof that it doesn’t matter what you’re born as. If you’re a threat, you will die.

It’s just the natural order.

 

\--

 

Chin’s warning to them to watch their words carefully hadn’t entirely made sense when they watched his cousin climb out of the ocean – and immediately deck the man who had made her lose her wave. Steve is impressed, he can’t help but grin, but Chin’s words are low and direct, his dark eyes boring into Steve more so than Danny, and as soon as the young recruit is close enough Steve feels the buzz across his skin and tastes ozone. He immediately bites back any negative reaction, doing his best to keep his face open and welcoming, but Chin’s eyes don’t leave him throughout the encounter. He watches Steve like a hawk, like he _knows_ , and Danny is a constant presence at his shoulder. Steve feels the rage clawing its way up his throat, his fingers twitching and his scars burning, but Kono is smiling and bright-eyed, no cold cunning in her expressive eyes; no hint of fang or drag of claws when she shakes his hand.

She agrees to help them, eager to prove herself, and Steve tries to focus on that instead of the close proximity of _two_ Shifters, both of them predators even if he’s not sure what Kono is. She’s Chin’s cousin, young and beautiful and sharing a few traits with the older, quieter man. Steve wonders which side of the family her Shift came from; even if two Shifters have a child, there’s not always a guarantee that they’ll be a Shifter as well, although the child always carries the gene.

“I’m looking forward to helping however I can,” Kono says eagerly once she’s changed. It’s a plain dress, nothing too fancy; it fits the cover they need in order for her to meet their target. Sang Min sounds like a pleasant character, if you consider someone who smuggles people into Hawaii to be anything but the money-hungry low-life he is. Kamekona promised them that it would go well, and if Chin trusts the large, cheerful man, then Steve will give him the benefit of the doubt.

Sang Min, however, does not have his vote of confidence. Steve is tense, carefully controlled, and he can’t tell if it’s entirely the situation or if it’s because he’s in a confined space with Danny, who is making quiet grumbling noises low in his throat as they watch Kono meet Sang Min. She’s good, Steve will give her that; the right amount of fear, the right promises, and it looks like they’re going to buy it until Sang Min has her strip and takes a picture.

“Trap,” Steve hisses, his gun already up, and a second later Kono vanishes. Chin curses and shoves himself away from the surveillance equipment; Danny is already shoving the truck doors open with a snarl, tumbling out into the bright light and hitting the ground running. Steve is right behind him, firing at the closest target and searching frantically for Kono. Shifter or not, she’s young and she’s got promise, and Chin will murder them both slowly if something happens to his beloved cousin.

Sang Min makes a run for it, wide-eyed and wild, and Steve gives chase without a thought. The rage sings through his blood, the eagerness for a fight that Danny has already berated him for multiple times, but Steve can’t stop it any more than he can stop breathing. SEAL training prepared him for any situation; compartmentalizing kept him alive through all of them despite the close calls. Steve can be rational and enraged at the same time; he can balance any emotion equally until something tips the scale, and then his prey had better hope he’s feeling more diplomatic than hungry. His men used to joke he was like a starving wolf scenting blood, and it usually rubbed him the wrong way; he’s not a Shifter, and he doesn’t want to be compared to one. There was still a grain of truth in their words, or several, because he locks onto Sang Min and chases him down until the man is suddenly knocked sideways by a writhing, screaming bundle of brown fur.

Danny almost runs into him, biting out a surprised curse when Steve suddenly skids to a stop, and he only just keeps himself from turning and laying the Shifter out for coming so close. He’s still caught up in the battle euphoria, looking for an enemy, but even he can’t help but stare in shock as Sang Min is mauled by the angriest mongoose Steve has ever seen. Indian Mongooses aren’t native to Hawaii; they were brought in to help clear pests long before Steve was born. They’re wild and elusive, as sneaky as any of their kin, and it hadn’t occurred to him at all to suspect that Kono’s Shift might be that of a mongoose. Most Shifters in Hawaii tend to be native species; clearly this is not the case here.

“Get it the hell off me!” Sang Min shouts, trying to bat away the mongoose. She doesn’t seem phased; she ducks his uncoordinated smacks and gnaws on his flesh, hissing and spitting until Chin crouches down and whistles to get her attention. Only then does Kono jump away, climbing into her cousin’s waiting arms like it’s something they do every day. Chin stands and holds her easily, rubbing a finger between her rounded ears while Danny and Steve try to stop staring. She looks back with large, liquid eyes, blinking slowly and making a curious noise as her nose twitches.

“Right,” Steve says, like that’s it, and then he cuffs Sang Min and drags him out to the car. There’s really nothing else he can say, not until Kono has shifted back and is coming out of the building. She’s dressed again, beaming widely as Chin congratulates her and Danny sticks close with a fascinated look in his eyes that makes something ugly twist in Steve’s chest.

“Well done, Kono,” he says when they’re close enough. His handshake is professional but his smile is as kind as he can make it, and Kono’s returning smile is soft and tinged with understanding as she reaches out to shake his hand.

“Thank you, sir,” she says quietly. Beside her, Danny goes suddenly still, his head snapping around, and he’s darting away before Steve can ask what’s wrong. He follows instantly, Chin and Kono hot on his heels, and when he rounds the corner Danny is clawing at the lock of a shipping container. He’s growling deep in his chest, his lips pulled back and his canines too long to be polite.

“Keys!” he barks as soon as he sees them, but Steve does him one better. He gets the bolt cutters and destroys the lock with one quick snap, ripping it free and chucking it to the side before he helps Danny shove the doors open. Multiple faces stare back at them from inside, every one of them shocked, and Steve goes still for a second before snapping to attention.

“Chin, Kono, call HPD. Tell them we’ve got Sang Min and lay out the situation. We’re gonna need EMS and more transport. Danny, help me out here.”

“You got it, boss.” Chin already has his phone pressed to his ear as he turns away, and Kono is typing out a number quickly as she follows him. Danny sticks close, gently checking over everyone and trying his best to communicate with them. Only one or two can speak broken English; Steve can speak their native tongues well enough to translate. A man and woman huddled near the back of the container make his skin tight and his scars ache. He tastes ozone and looks at them, swallowing thickly before offering a small smile and stepping closer. They watch with wary confusion until he smiles a little wider and crouches down to look at the woman.

“We found your daughter,” he says, in English first and then in Mandarin when they don’t understand. Tears spring to their eyes and he finds himself being hugged by both Shifters, their hoarse gratitude ringing in his ears until the unpleasant feeling in his chest uncoils and slithers away. He hugs them both, murmuring quietly, and when it’s their turn to step out into the sunlight Steve is right beside them. Someone has brought their daughter along, wrapped in soft towels to keep her warm, and as soon as she’s in their arms again she squeaks and shifts. She’s naked, barely covered by her towel, but she’s crying and her parents are saying her name like they never expected to see her again, so Steve turns his back and gives them the privacy they need. He acts as a guard, his feet braced and his arms crossed over his chest as he stares impassively over the assembled officers and refugees. Danny appears for a moment in the crowd, looking at Steve with a soft expression on his face, but before he can decipher what it could mean the Shifter turns and he’s gone again.

Steve waits until the refugees are safely aboard their buses and his people are by his side again.

“Plan?” Kono asks, tilting her head to the side curiously. Steve chews on the inside of his lip for a moment before nodding decsicively.

“Sang Min knows where Hesse is,” he says; it’s a certainty, not an empty declaration, and the others are nodding like they know it as well as he does. “So, we talk to Sang Min. We finish this. Today.”

“Please no bodies,” Danny mutters, but he already looks resigned before Steve grins at him. “What was I thinking, of course there will be bodies. There will be so many bodies and so much paperwork my back will never be the same again.”

He’s still muttering as he heads for the car and Steve follows after him, unable to hold back his laugh when the shorter man throws his hands up in despair.

“You are insane,” he announces, pointing at Steve, but there’s amusement glimmering in his eyes and his shoulders are relaxed. “I’m claiming kidnapping. You have kidnapped me on this insane chase of yours; I am unwilling, I want it known.”

“Sure you are,” Steve agrees easily. He holds up his hand and Danny throws the keys at him with a groan before climbing into the passenger’s seat. Steve slides behind the wheel and grins, bringing the Camaro to life and listening to the engine bellow before he guns it.

“Kidnapping!” Danny yells at him over the noise.

“Adventure!” Steve shouts back. It’s the lightest he’s felt in weeks, the anticipation of finding Hesse a sweet victory he can already taste on his tongue. It’s the hum in his blood as he closes in on his prey, knowing that there’s no escape for them. He’s got Hesse cornered, he’s _got him_ , and Steve almost wants to howl his victory so the whole island knows. He tamps down on the urge, baring his teeth in a vicious grin. Danny is quiet but alert beside him, his head up and his nostrils flaring as the same eagerness glints in his eyes.

For the moment, man and Shifter are united in a common goal. It’s a nice thought, even if it’s one that Steve knows won’t last.

 

\--

 

Victor Hesse is a Shifter, a shaggy wolf covered in scars and missing an ear, but being a Shifter does not save him from the bullets Steve puts through his shoulder and throat. He can barely lift his arm, the muscles are torn and his shirt is hanging in bloody strips, but his aim is true and his hand is steady when he pulls the trigger. He’s up on top of the crate as soon as the wolf plunges over the side with a garbled noise of pain; trailing blood after him and panting like he’s run a race as he scans the bloody water for the body. He sees scraps of fur and something dark sinking, a still body that looks caught between man and beast; twisted and grotesque like his brother had been when Anton had died. Steve watches, but Hesse never resurfaces, so he turns away and limps over to check on where Danny is currently straddling one of Hesse’s goons.

“You look like you’re having fun,” he comments, and Danny looks up. He’s squinting against the fading sunlight, lips already parted like he’s about to shoot back some quip or other, but as soon as he sees Steve the blood drains from his face. He’s on his feet in a second, one foot connecting with the head of the man he’d been holding down when he tries to squirm away; he drops like a stone but Danny doesn’t notice. He’s already up on the hood of the truck, claws scraping against metal as he climbs. Steve tenses and jerks back, his fingers twitching for his gun, but Danny looks more distressed than anything. He’s whining low in his throat, a heartbreaking sound, and as soon as he’s in Steve’s personal bubble he’s reaching for the wound.

“Jesus Christ, babe, I can’t leave you alone for two seconds!”

“I’m fine,” Steve snaps, but Danny will not be dissuaded. He bullies Steve off the cargo container and all but manhandles him off the ship, ignoring Steve’s agitation even though he knows the Shifter can smell it. Steve is trying to breathe, trying to drag the rage back into its neat little box, but Danny is close enough to breathe across his nape and Steve is having a difficult time seeing clearly. There’s red in his vision and hatred blackening his chest, eating away his rationality as he’s forced down the ramp and then suddenly he’s being swarmed by EMS and he can’t breathe.

“Babe,” Danny says, the endearment falling from his lips naturally, like he’s never called Steve anything else. “You need to breathe and let these nice people _stitch your arm back on_ , okay? You’re losing blood, you animal; sit the fuck down and let them do their job.”

“I’m f-”

Danny claps his hands together like he’s praying for patience, or trying to appeal to Steve’s nonexistent rational mind. “So help me _God_ , if you tell me you’re fine I am going to shoot you in the leg, and then knock you out. Just so they can patch you up all nice and pretty and you can go back to vendettas and insane, psychotic crusades against their orders. Okay? Lay down, Steven. Right now.”

It’s an order, an Alpha exerting their will, and Steve bares his teeth. Danny bares his right back, blunt human teeth and frustrated, concerned eyes; not a fang in sight or a flash of dark gold across his irises, although the taste of ozone is thick on Steve’s tongue. It mingles with the blood into something that’s almost pleasing, something that makes his rage quiet with one last grumble. He sits on the gurney without a word and lets himself be pushed backward by a careful hand against his chest; Danny’s hand, because the Shifter is close enough to share breaths with and Steve can’t tell when he’s last blinked. They’re staring at each other, the noises around them fading into muted murmurs. Steve swallows thickly and reaches out with his good arm. Danny’s bicep is warm beneath his palm, the fabric of his shirt surprisingly nice against his callused skin. Steve squeezes, he’s not sure what else to do, and gives the Shifter a slow nod.

“Thank you,” he whispers, packing as much as he can into those two words because there’s no other way he can think to say it. Danny nods and gives him a sunny smile; the corners of his eyes crinkle up and his nose wrinkles. It shouldn’t be adorable or attractive but it _is_ , and Steve finally admits to himself that he must have lost a lot of blood if this is where his mind is going.

“Rest,” Danny urges, pressing close enough to rub his cheek against Steve’s arm; he hasn’t dropped his hand or let go yet, his fingers curled gently around Danny’s arm like he’s unsure of what will happen if he breaks the contact. Steve swallows again, feeling the scrape of everything he’s forcing back down his throat, and lets go so that he can let the paramedics swarm around him. Danny gets jostled out of the way without a word of protest, and he watches unwaveringly until the gurney is loaded into the back of the ambulance and the doors swing shut.

Steve doesn’t stop staring even after the doors close; not until an oxygen mask is slipped over his face and one of the paramedics pulls his attention from the closed doors to ask him questions. He’s a mess of blood and agony, his torn skin searing pain through his chest and down his spine with every bump they hit, but Steve doesn’t make a sound.

He’s a SEAL. He can handle pain. All that matters is that Hesse is dead. He’s avenged his father’s death. His mission is complete.

He can rest now.

Steve slips into darkness despite the voices trying to call him back.

 

\--

 

His body is a roadmap of scars. Steve has at least one from almost every Shifter he’s fought. He turns this way and that in front of the full-length mirror against the back of his father’s bedroom door – his door now. The McGarrett family house is his now. It’s all he has left of his father aside from his memories. The bed is large and comfortable, something he’s not used to anymore; the lanai opens out onto his own little stretch of beach and the ocean he’s missed every day until he finally came home.

Steve is covered in scars. There’s the damage from the jaguar shifter across his arm and curved around his side; the knotted scar tissue from the jackal; claw marks from tigers and wolves and multiple others. Bears, jungle cats, even a goddamn panda; they’ve left small marks and bigger scars and Steve can remember them all. There’s a new scar curled over the top of his shoulder, too close to his jugular – the distinct impression of large teeth, the punctures still fresh and raw against his tanned skin. Victor Hesse was only one of many who nearly won the prize of Steve’s life, but just like all the rest he fell short when it mattered. Steve has won again, one last battle scar to tell the story of his life, and he stares at it with dark, flat hazel eyes before the doorbell rings and he pulls his shirt on to cover them all. He hides them away and locks the memories down, the _boom_ that brought him here a muted horror hidden away deep in the recesses of his mind until sleep brings it all screaming back. All of the pain and blood and horrors that Steve has walked through played like a movie behind his closed eyelids; the most noticeable punishment men like him receive until the day they close their eyes forever.

Danny is already halfway up the stairs by the time Steve makes it to the top of the landing. He scowls at the Shifter and crosses his arms to hide his instinctive reach for his gun.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” he snaps, even though he knows that the man did; he heard him loud and clear.

“You didn’t answer, babe,” Danny replies with a shrug. “Wanted to make sure you were still with us and not, y’know, hunting down the baddies without backup, or weapons, or resources like sane cops do.”

“I’m not a cop,” Steve points out needlessly. Danny rolls his eyes.

“I am constantly reminded of this, I promise you.” Gesturing uselessly in what Steve has quickly learned is his ‘I am frustrated with you but will not say so’ flail, Danny huffs and stops when he’s a few steps down from Steve. He crosses his arms and waits expectantly. His closeness brings with him the familiar crackle in the air and the taste of ozone on Steve’s tongue, like the threat of a bad storm. He swallows to try and wash it away before shaking his head and sighing.

“Yes, Danny?”

“I see you are also incapable of answering your phone, Oh Mighty SEAL.” Danny’s eyebrows shoot up until they’re in danger of melding with his slicked-back hair, and Steve frowns before digging out his cell phone.

“Must have forgotten to charge it,” he mutters, and the Shifter in front of him scoffs.

“Forgot to charge it, he says. Nevermind that he’s now the leader of a team of miscreants who all have access to highly dangerous weapons and _immunity_.” The man flails his hands out again like he’s speaking to a room full of people; he even spins in place to gesture at Steve’s walls and ceiling. “Nevermind that he has immunity _and_ means to do whatever he wants, regardless of the law!”

“Danny,” Steve finally snaps, getting the Shifter’s attention back on him and raising his eyebrows significantly. “What are you babbling about?”

“I do not _babble_ ,” Danny sputters, affronted. “I do- I do not babble, Steven, do not start with me. I am _here_ because we have been trying to _call_ you, oh fearless leader, and you were not answering your phone, so _I_ volunteered to come and get you, because apparently we are incapable of doing our _jobs_ without you.”

“Danny,” he says again, a low warning in his tone that makes Danny roll his eyes.

“I am here because it is time to _work_ , Steven,” the Detective huffs at him. Steve perks up at that, his head snapping up and his shoulders tensing. His newest scar aches sharply but he ignores it easily, his mind already quiet and clear as he leans closer.

“Work,” he repeats, and he can’t help his grin.

Danny can’t seem to help his grin either, shaking his head helplessly but giving Steve a look that promises dangerous things. For once, he doesn’t feel threatened, not by the creature standing in front of him; the _haole_ from New Jersey, a Shifter unlike any he’s run into for longer than he can remember.

“Time to catch the bad guys, babe,” Danny says.

Steve nods, checking his gun and his new, shiny, Governor-gifted badge as he heads down the stairs. He bumps shoulders with Danny lightly on his way by, as friendly a gesture as he can offer right now. It’s more than he would have done a month ago, or even a week ago. At least he's trying; he's going to have to, since half of his new task force is made up of Shifters. One of whom is still standing where Steve left him, watching him walk away with a fond expression and a quirk of his lips. Steve grins back, almost unable to help himself, and jerks his head toward the front door.

“What are you waiting for, brah? Let’s go get the bad guys.”


End file.
